Bright Eyes
by ConsultingTenny
Summary: When Clara is shot with a poison-filled flash bolt, she is left terrified... and blind. ((Sorry, I am horrible at summaries. Rated M for eventual smut, trigger warning: suicidal attempt, heavy drinking.))
1. Chapter 1

As soon as the flash bolt grazed her arm, Clara knew it would be rendered useless until the Doctor showed up.

She ducked back down behind the half-wall with a hiss of pain, and his words ran across her mind.

_'This planet is completely harmless!'_ He had said. _'I'll be right back, nothing will happen!'_

"Damn," she seethed through gritted teeth and risked a peek over the half-wall at her attackers.

There were three of them, all monstrous-looking humanoid creatures of the same descent. Only one was armed with a flash bolt gun, but his aim seemed pretty spot-on, Clara noted as she looked down at her burnt arm, now oozing blood. Another shot was fired, it whizzed past her ear so quickly she could feel a rush of wind following it.

Clara glanced around the large hotel room, and her eyes settled on the bathroom, where the Doctor had left his sonic. She inched her way to the end of the half-wall, suck in a breath, and lunged across the opening, a few bolts narrowly missing her.

And she heard them coming, quick. She stood up, her hand closed around the sonic, and she whipped around as soon as the creatures were behind her. She pointed it blindly, pressing the button as the armed creature pulled the trigger to his gun again.

The tall humanoid alien shrieked and sank to the ground, his gun clattering away, and Clara mirrored his action. Her side burned and from what she could feel, was bleeding profusely.

Another damn bolt had hit her.

But this time, there was no way she could get back up.

"Doctor!" She called weakly, sliding away from the two other frantic looking aliens. One's head snapped up to look at her, a feral growl ripping from his throat.

It was becoming increasingly harder to see, a bright light was beginning to border her vision. Still, she stuck out her hand and kicked her legs to keep the creature away.

She strained to see the scene in front of her, but one thing was for sure.

One of the aliens was pointing the gun at her head.

Clara closed her eyes, prepared for the end, but instead of a shot being heard, another animalistic growl filled the room. This didn't come from the aliens, though, at least not from any of the three that attacked her. This one came from her alien, her Doctor.

He flashed in front of her vision before the light engulfed it completely, the only thing she could hear were shouts of pain from her attackers and loud thuds as what she assumed were their bodies hit the ground.

"Doctor?" Clara held out her good arm, her breathing became ragged. "Doctor, I... I can't see," she whispered.

She heard his heavy footsteps running towards her, and his hand closed around hers.

"Clara?! Clara, you're hurt!" He said quickly, and before the brunette could protest, his arms were under her, lifting her from the ground.

As quickly as he could, he made his way over the bodies on the floor and to the doors of the TARDIS, kicking them open and muttering curses all the while.

"Help me, old girl!" The Doctor shouted into the room, and Clara could feel the atmosphere shift, an odd smell hitting her nose.

"I am so sorry for this," she heard him mutter, and she was placed down on a table, his hand grabbing the hem of her shirt and cutting her out of it. "The bolt is embedded in your side, releasing poison into your system as we speak. It isn't lethal, but it has some nasty side effects."

The Doctor's hands left her now bare side, and she could hear him rummaging around for something behind her.

"I won't lie, this will hurt like hell," and with that, he pressed one hand to her stomach to hold her down and the other used what felt like tweezers to dig around in the open wound for the bolt.

Clara's screams filled the air, and his hand pressed down a bit harder when she tried to move away.

"Almost got it, hold on..." His voice was apologetic and gentle, but his grip was aggressive. She wasn't getting out of this one.

Clara bit into her lips to hold back from crying out, and her good hand squeezed the one on her stomach.

"I am so sorry," he whispered before shouting in triumph. The sharp pain in her side ceased, the tweezers gone. "I got it!"

"Doctor, why can't I see?" Clara asked after a moment, once he had begun dressing her wounds.

"What? What do you mean?" The Doctor's hands ceased their movement.

"There's just... light. I can't see anything."

"Oh, shit... I am so sorry, Clara."

She could feel her brain switch to panic mode. "W-What do you mean?"

"I was too late. The poison took your eyes."


	2. Chapter 2

"M-My eyes..." Clara whispered, not so much as a question, but a statement, as to convince herself.

"This is all my fault, Clara, I am so sorry," the Doctor repeated and held a shaky hand out to grasp her hand.

At first, she jumped and pulled her hand away, but she eventually felt around for his again before holding onto it like a lifeline.

"No, no... It's not your fault, Doctor. You had no way of knowing."

Clara's other hand came up to cup his face, her thumb running along his cheek.

And it was true, he couldn't know that she would be shot with some sort of odd poison that would hurt like hell and take her eyes. How could he know?

'He may be an alien with a time machine, but he doesn't know everything,' she thought with a sigh.

"I'll have to get used to this," she muttered as she moved her other hand to the opposite side of his face. "Smile for me?"

A hopeful smile flickered across her own features, and she felt his cheeks twitch slightly, then he pulled away.

His rule. Of course, his bloody rule.

"Sorry," her voice cracked, her hands stilled in the air for a moment. "Can you, uh... Can you help me to my room? I would go myself, but I-"

"Yes, of course, Clara."

Her eyebrows shot up and she almost said something about the gentleness in his tone, but decided against it. Last thing she wanted was to push her luck.

The pain in her side decided to make itself known as she attempted to get up, nearly falling on shaky legs. The Doctor was there immediately, his arm hooked around her bare stomach. His hand managed to work it's way around her wound and hold awkwardly on to her hip.

"You alright?"

"Yeah."

In truth, she probably wasn't okay, her side burned and so did her eyes, and she felt like she was going to vomit. "Actually, we need to make a detour to the restroom," she said quickly. Her free hand came up to clutch at her stomach.

"And that would be one of the side effects," he mumbled before starting off quickly, helping to tug her along.

The Doctor helped guide her to the toilet, and just in time, for as soon as she leaned over the bowl, whatever was in her stomach definitely wasn't anymore.

He held her hair back with one hand, and rubbed easy circles into her back with the other.

"It's alright, it's okay," he whispered and pat her back as she finished.

"Oh, God." Clara sat back quickly, clutching the Doctor's hand tightly. She used it to pick herself up and felt around for the sink.

She rinsed her mouth out and turned around, resorting to use the Doctor as a support.

"Oh, God," she repeated.

"You just need to rest."

"Yeah."

The Doctor wrapped an arm around her middle and leaned down to hook his other arm under her legs, lifting her in one swift motion.

"Oi! Put me down!" She exclaimed, smacking his chest weakly.

"You are in no condition to walk," he stated with a sort of authority that even Clara didn't want to dispute.

She muttered something inaudible and leaned her head against his chest in defeat. The steady double-thrum of his hearts did their best to lull her to close her eyes, and she did.

The Doctor pushed the door to her room open with his foot, and carried the sleeping brunette to her bed, where he set her down as gently as possible and pulled the covers up over her.

He turned to leave, but felt a hand grab his jacket.

"Stay," Clara mumbled weakly. "Please, Doctor. Stay."

Her tone, although weak, had a certain finality to it, and the Doctor nodded.

"Alright."

He pulled over the chair from her desk and sat beside her bed. One of his hands, of it's own volition, reached out to run a hand through her messy chestnut curls.

"Doctor..." She mumbled and brought one hand up to hold his to her face. "You're cold."

"I'm always cold."

"C'mere, then."

Clara held open her arms and tugged on his hand with one.

The Doctor was suddenly very aware of her lack of a top. He blushed and looked away.

"Clara, I-I can't," the Doctor said quickly and tried to pry her hand off his jacket.

"Please?"

It was growing increasingly hard to say no to Clara, and he hated it.

"Fine," and he allowed her to pull him forward and onto the bed, tucking her arms around his waist.

He surrendered completely, and slipped his arms around her shoulders, her head tucked under his chin.

"Thank you, Doctor," she whispered and he knew immediately that this to do with his cold hands.

"Of course," he muttered back and pressed a rather uncharacteristic kiss to the top of her head. He immediately regretted it though, he could feel Clara smile and laugh into his chest.

"Oh, hush," he grumbled and poked her back.

"Not a chance."


	3. Chapter 3

**So sorry for the short chapter!**

Clara's eyes flew open, a night terror ripping her from sleep. To her dismay, when she opened her eyes, all she could see was blackness. Then it all hit her.

She was blind. Very, very blind. And someone was in the bed with her.

The Doctor? Clara touched his face lightly to confirm. His mouth was open in a soft snore, his breathing steady. The thumping of his hearts made her smile.

What she would give to see the Doctor like this.

Clara nuzzled into his chest, content in listening to his breathing, but the movement must have woken him, for the steadiness broke and he yawned.

She didn't pull back, in fact, she wrapped her arms around him to pull him closer.

"Feeling better?" He mumbled weakly before stretching awkwardly.

"Not at all," she whispered against his chest.

The Doctor only responded with a thoughtful hum and a gentle hand on her back.

Clara tried so hard to hold it back, she really did, but emotion overtook her and her body wracked with sobs. Wet spots grew quickly on the Doctor's jacket.

"Clara?!" He said quickly, the concern in his voice evident.

"I'm useless," she whispered in between sobs. Her small hands clung desperately to his jacket as she tried to hold back more tears.

"Oh, Clara..." The Doctor moved a hand up to the back of her head and carded through her hair. "You're not useless, not at all!"

"Yes I-I am!" The brunette wailed into his chest. "I w-won't be able to see planets, help you c-chase aliens, I won't even be able t-to put on my bloody make-up! I'll be a horrid mess!" She pushed away from him and covered her face with her hands, but the Doctor was having none of that. He pried her hands from her face and shook his head.

"No, Clara. No. Because know what? You're Clara Bloody Oswald, and you are brilliant. Absolutely, one-hundred-percent brilliant. And who cares if you can't put on some damned make-up, you're beaut-" The word practically escaped his mouth and he held his breath, contemplating for a moment.

His voice softened substantially. "Clara, you are beautiful. Just because you're blind, that changes nothing."

Clara's breath caught in her throat and she pressed her forehead to the Doctor's shoulder.

"Maybe," she said quietly and loosened her grip on his back. The Doctor seemed quite content in holding her, though, and squeezed her lightly.

"Definitely."

"How can you be so sure that I'll be fine?"

"Because I know you, and you will be."

_And I love you, so you have to be._


	4. Chapter 4

Almost no time had passed, but it had seemed like forever ago when the Doctor held Clara, attempting desperately to make it better. It was in his nature to fix things, after all. She strained against the of the TARDIS to hear his steady breathing in the other room.

The nausea that plagued her before had returned, and she took to sitting in the bathroom with her back pressed against the cold tiles, waiting for the waves to pass. She pulled her knees to her chest as gently as she could without disturbing the wraps around her stomach.

Tears began to fall again, this time much quicker and she didn't bother to hide the ugly sobs escaping her throat. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and rubbed them fiercely. Part of her wished she could rub out the poison.

Clara felt churning in the pit of her stoach, and she felt around for the toilet before doing nothing more than dry heaving over the bowl. After all, she had nothing left to come back up.

She curled up, biting back her sobs as she remembered the Doctor in the next room. Part of her wanted to wake him up.

But Clara couldn't let him see her like this, so weak and broken. Fragility wasn't an option, not anymore.

Even long after the nausea had subsided, she stayed curled up against the cold tiled wall, tracing the grooves of the grout with her finger. It seemed like tears rolled down Clara's face in a continuous stream.

She had fallen asleep when the Doctor noticed her absence and found her in the bathroom, the remainders of her makeup lined down her face and her shoulders shaking violently. The list of side effects from the poison was long and nasty, including intense drops in body temperature.

With a sigh, the Doctor leaned down and wrapped careful arms around Clara and picked her up. He carried her the short distance to the bed and set her down, pulling the covers up to her chin and smoothing back her hair.

The Doctor sipped quietly at a fresh cup of tea as he waited for Clara to wait. He, of course, already had one made just the way she liked it.

He always remembered the little things about Clara, the way she twirled the ring on her finger when she was nervous, the way her foot tapped when they had a day in, as if ready to get up and run. Clara had always been ready to run, always prepared to jump into action, and the Doctor loved it more than words could say.

But he had seen the life taken from her eyes, quite literally, and he would do whatever to get her back. To fix her.

Because that's what the Doctor did, all across galaxies and planets, he fixed things, no matter the challenges. And he would be damned if he couldn't fix Clara.


	5. Chapter 5

The Doctor often held her hand, his unspoken rule forgotten. Rules, after all, only applied when necessary.

She never seemed like herself anymore. It had been two weeks, and Clara's normally sassy and confident demeanor was gone, replaced by a completely new person; timid, nervous, sad. And every day, it broke the Doctor's hearts again.

"Clara?" He asked the silence surrounding her door with a timid knock.

"Leave me alone," he heard after a moment, and he knew that she wouldn't open the door.

She never did, it seemed almost like she was shutting him out.

"I've got some food made, if you want it."

"Go away!" She shouted and he heard her hands slam against the counter.

The Doctor felt his throat constrict and he left wordlessly. The last thing he heard before heading to the console room was Clara's choked sob.

Clara's hand clutched the bottle of pills like a lifeline, though they were quite the opposite.

With shaking hands, she removed the top and for a while, just played with the contents between her fingers.

She emptied the pills out into her hand and took a deep breath.

How ironic that her sleeping pills were going to help her sleep forever.

Slowly, one by one, she took the pills into her mouth and swallowed.

The bottle was empty, her shaky hands now still.

"Clara?" His rough voice came, more firmly. "Clara, are you alright?"

And she tried, so, so hard to answer, but it felt as if her tongue was frozen in her mouth. Clara grasped for the counter to hold herself up, but to no avail. Her legs went numb beneath her and she fell to the floor, her head knocking against the tile and rendering her unconscious.

"Clara? Clara?!" His voice became more panicked, and he turned the doorknob. Something wasn't right.

The sight of Clara on the ground threw him into action. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the empty pill bottle, but he refused to think of it as he pressed two fingers to her pulse point.

A light thrumming beat against his fingers and he released a sigh of relief.

Five minutes.

The words flashed through his head, and he immediately understood.

He had five minutes to save his Clara.

The Doctor scooped her up into his arms and broke out into a run towards the infirmary.

"Hang in there, Clara, please," he choked out and kicked the door open.

As soon as he laid her limp body out on the stark white table, he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and programmed it to a setting he had originally hoped he'd never have to use.

"This is going to hurt," he said and lifted her jumper, pressing the sonic to her bare stomach. He saw the electricity pass through her, and she immediately flipped over on her side and emptied the contents of her stomach into the bin he provided.

Clara fell back against the stark white sheets, her face an odd shade of white that almost matched them.

The Doctor ripped through cabinets of various alien medications, both legal and illegal, and yelled triumphantly when he pulled out a vial of blue liquid.

Everything hit him when he began to pour it down her throat.

Clara had tried to kill herself. She had almost died.

A deep breath shook her body and a gasp escaped her lips. Almost immediately after, she shot up and gripped the edges of the bed.

"What the... hell was that?" She asked breathlessly.

"Vicxisian blood," came his weak response. She didn't ask for any further explanation, she didn't get the chance, for he had her in his arms too quickly for her to react to.

"Don't you ever do that again!" He whispered into her hair.

Clara could only nod, and a sob racked through her body.

"I just... I felt useless. It was only a matter of time before you..." She found herself saying some two hours later.

"Before I what?" He asked softly and ran a comforting hand through her hair.

"Until you left me." Any human being wouldn't have been able to hear her words, spoken so lowly, but the Doctor's sensitive ears did.

"That wouldn't happen. It won't, not ever." He pressed a chaste kiss to her head. "I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

"I just felt useless," Clara began whispering into his chest. She clutched awkwardly at the fabric of his shirt and buried her face into his shoulder. "I felt so god damned useless and I couldn't... I didn't know what to do, Doctor."

The Doctor said nothing, just smoothed down the hair resting against her neck and tightened his grip around her waist.

"Clara," he began. "Don't you ever think about doing something like that again. Ever."

He sounded sad, something that tugged at Clara's heartstrings in the most painful way. She pulled away the slightest bit and reached a hand up to run her fingertips over his face, feel the wrinkles and worry lines that ran deep. Without thinking, she ran her thumb ever-so-lightly over his bottom lip and he sucked in a breath.

"I won't, you have my word."

"Good." He swallowed awkwardly. "I can't lose you."

The words left his mouth before he could reign them back, and he felt himself tense.

"So many lines," she murmured when her thumb pressed against his cheek.

"They're horrible, aren't they?"

"Hmm... I like them."

Clara pressed her head against his chest, and took in the gentle sound of his beating hearts.

"I missed this," she said against his shirt.

"Missed what?"

"You."

"I've been here, Clara."

She paused and pressed her hand into his chest.

"You know what I mean, idiot. You've been distant," she whispered the last bit, choking back a new wave of tears.

"Clara I-"

"No, wait, I need to say something. This, whatever this is," she made a gesture between them. "Is nice. I don't want it to change. But Doctor, I need you to meet me halfway."

"Clara?" His voice took on a new tone, confusion and... what was that?

"For a genius, you're such an idiot," she sighed. "Think, Doctor."

What seemed like an eternity of tense air and quick heartbeats passed, until Clara felt him shift a bit.

"I think I..." He trailed off and Clara could feel his hearts speed up as he leaned down the slightest bit.

She took a leap of faith, hoping to anything that she hadn't read the signs wrong, and her hands moved to his face to pull him down.

Clara tasted his lips, hesitantly and slowly, until she pulled back and bit her lip.

"Doctor?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He laughed, a deep yet happy sound, and pulled her close.

"Oh, Clara," he laughed again. "I've wanted to do that for so long."

"Well, why the hell didn't you?" The laugh that resounded from Clara's throat was one of relief, her only wish finally true.

"I just figured you wouldn't want to." She felt him shrug. "I mean, look at me."

"I think you're handsome. Besides, I've always had a thing for older men." A small hand moved up to run through the bristly curls at the side of his head. "We kissed."

Realization hit the both of them rather quickly, and they both stiffened.

"I kissed you..." The Doctor murmured and she could feel something in him change. A hand rose to cup her face and he tilted it up to meet his lips once again. It was short and sweet, but oh-so-perfect in so many ways. She sighed happily against his lips and pulled away just the slightest bit.

"I like this new development. A lot."


End file.
